


To Pasolini, Or: How to Live Fiercely

by tallestgirlonearth



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallestgirlonearth/pseuds/tallestgirlonearth
Summary: How does one live? What can one do, I mean.Andrés de Fonollosa is a man with a firm set of beliefs. Following them leads him to Martín, always.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	To Pasolini, Or: How to Live Fiercely

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based not on a poem by Pier Paolo Pasolini, as the title may suggest, but rather on one that was written for the man, by another poet called David St. John. I discovered it in a lovely little book called "Poems of Rome", sadly there seems to be no online publication. Still, if you're fond of poetry (and of Rome), purchasing the book is well worth it. 
> 
> As for the other tags, I know I had romantic feelings in mind when I wrote this, but the story isn't really explicit in its description of relationships. So, you'll see...
> 
> Anyway, so much for introductions, I hope you enjoy my second attempt at psychoanalysing a sociopath! Leave a kudos, comment or yell at me on tumblr at @stars-and-meteors :)

_One must: 1) Love poetry after poetry’s death;_

There are many variations of art. Human effort to capture the beauty (and sometimes the hideousness) of their surroundings is as old as humans themselves, and at some point, it was decided to divide the corpus into epochs and styles. Andrés knows all this, just as he knows that he _should_ appreciate cave paintings just the same as a sculpture by Rodin (and he does), but when it comes to _feeling,_ to being deeply touched by someone else’s work, the Renaissance and Baroque are by far his favourites: There’s just something completely _incomparable_ about the marriage of religion and humanism as Michelangelo saw it, and to be quite frank, Andrés could lose himself in the study of the four different Baroque modes of painting colour. He will readily admit that he once spent an entire afternoon in Valletta, gazing at Caravaggio’s Beheading of Saint John the Baptist in Saint John’s Co-Cathedral, and completely ignored the splendour of the building itself.

He’s always been most interested in the grand masters of old, because back then people were truly shooting for the stars, aiming for absolute perfectionism and nothing less. Nowadays, everybody seems to be satisfied with being average and it is Andrés’ duty, his calling, to appreciate beauty in its most exalted form, if nobody else will.

_2) Remain of the spirit without a God;_

Being an aesthete, a free spirit set on appreciating _l’art pour l’art,_ and live fully just because he _can,_ Andrés has no time for the concept of organised, institutionalised religion. Marx’ had the right of it when he described it as _opium of the people._ All these commandments and rules are said to give people purpose, even if it may just be how to bide their time until death and Judgment Day raise them from the earthly world to the realms of heaven. _Complete nonsense,_ Andrés thinks. Commandments serve no higher purpose than to command, in this case the unfortunates who call themselves believers. And what good does it do them? They are deprived of so many pleasures in life and they sign away the right to shape their own destiny. Andrés would never be so foolish. Yet what he _can_ appreciate is the mysticism of believing in something _bigger_ – someone even more powerful than all humans - that holds the strings of the universe in their metaphorical hands, that sings a song of creation and determines the beginning and the ending of everything. He appreciates it and it inspires him – not to wait for what’s to come and what he can’t prevent anyway, but to suck the marrow out of life, to make every moment brilliant and glorious in its uniqueness. 

_3) Trust always in the beauty of the raw;_

Andrés is a connoisseur of the finer things, be it art (paintings, sculptures, classical or at the very least traditional music) or the pleasures of everyday life (excellent food, excellent wine, interesting company). Obviously, he’s well aware of the effort that goes into these things. A good foundation is important, such as, say, the right ingredients for a recipe. You wouldn’t expect Massimo Bottura to produce marvellous _tortellini_ out of subpar eggs and flour, after all. Andrés himself is always striving for that very same perfection and only surrounds himself with the best. Sometimes, very rarely though, it’s pure raw talent that makes all the difference. A spark that not even years of refinement could replace. This is what made him decide to throw his lot in with that boisterous Argentine man he meets in Berlin, someone he would have dismissed as a number-cruncher, had it not been for this instant _pull_ he’d felt. Their first conversation just confirmed to Andrés that the other man was a diamond in the rough. Inexperienced in seeing beauty (even in himself), hardened by a tough childhood that turned him into a fighter, but with a one-in-a-million mind.

Andrés has never regretted that split-second decision. A personality such as Martín’s – complex, fascinating, _alluring_ – can never be faked, but everything else can be taught. And Andrés vowed to teach him _everything_. 

_4) Meld the contemplative with the active world_

As much as Andrés likes to pass himself off as an aesthete after the mould of Oscar Wilde, _l’art pour l’art_ and all that, constantly painting or reading or whatnot, simply prancing around and being fawned over could never be enough for him. Sure, he enjoys it when a beautiful woman stares up at him adoringly, breathless and wide-eyed. He likes showing off his sophistication, he likes to wine and dine (and woo) them, but sooner or later comes the time when they want to settle down, and that is where the fairytale ends. All his women wanted a house somewhere, and a life of dinners with friends, travelling abroad two or three times a year, going to the theatre and the opera – a life that would be absolutely stifling in its predictability. However, Andrés doesn’t ride a desk and he wants more than to anesthetise himself with pleasure. Thievery is not a nine-to-five job, it’s exciting and dangerous sometimes, living on a knife’s edge and that’s exactly how Andrés wants to live: In a constant high-wire act, where periods of steadiness and calm interchange with the adrenaline rushing in when the rope starts to wobble. He _needs_ that rush and the giddiness that’s coursing through his veins when he’s still standing, still thriving. Martín is the only one who understands and even shares this propensity to plunge headfirst into the unknown. No matter whether they’re enjoying a calm evening in their safehouse of the moment, or raising heaven and hell in the streets of Mediterranean towns, Martín is the only one who can be a partner to him in everything.

_5) Piss stylishly in the face of repression;_

Families – sometimes Andrés marvels at the strangeness of the concept, of how shared DNA is supposed to form an unbreakable bond between vastly different people. Take him and his own brother for example. Andrés loves Sergio, make no mistake about it, he loves him because they both are _different_ – outsiders from an early age due to their intellect and their inability to conform to the mediocre expectations of their peers, until they learned to keep to themselves. They share a father, and a choice of profession, but that is where the similarities end. Andrés is an aesthete, Sergio is a pragmatic. Andrés likes to dream, to entertain the notion of achieving the impossible. Sergio likes to plan everything to the n-th degree, needs to remain logical even in the face of chaos. Andrés wants to live gloriously, Sergio would prefer to just get lost to the world on some tropical island (at least he has some taste in picking interesting locations). Sergio soaks up the injustices of the world like a sponge, waiting for the right time to strike, whereas Andrés just wants to _lash out._ This tendency of his has been amplified after he met Martín, who has been hurt grievously in the past and yet tries to appear unaffected. Andrés is used to being scoffed at for his refined tastes, but people usually envy him for his charms – Martín, too, is charming but with him it’s different, some people won’t even let him be _who he is_ , they deny him the right to live and love how and whom he wants. Andrés won’t stand for bigotry like that.

Together, they are beautiful, Martín and him. They create masterful heists, shining in their glory, creating art that nobody but them can understand. Andrés never cared for conventions anyway, and with Martín by his side he pisses on everybody who wants to dull their glow.

_6) Simply refuse to be bored;_

Boredom, or the state of feeling weary and restless through lack of interest. It’s something that Andrés is trying to avoid like the plague. Sometimes his female companions used to joke about it, when he was in one of his moods, and he shrugged it off, replying that it was just a bout of _ennui_ that would soon pass. That this kept happening with every wife and girlfriend should have been a dead giveaway for two things: Firstly, the two terms are largely synonymous and if the woman of the hour were as intelligent as Andrés originally believed, she’d know. Secondly…well, it’s an unwelcome bit of self-awareness that pokes at his brain, but maybe something isn’t right with the kind of company he chooses for himself. The female company, that is. Andrés is never bored with Martín by his side.

The thing is, he needs new stimuli, constantly. Even before he met Martín, he travelled extensively, visiting as many museums and galleries as he could, soaking up culture and language and cuisine greedily, always moving on whenever his senses started to become dulled by a place. He still does all of that, only now Martín is at his side. They take turns in ranting at each other about their favourite subjects – art and engineering, respectively. Martín shares so many of his passions and yet he is so different…he’s his business partner, best friend, dearest companion. So many things all rolled into one, and there are moments when Martín will make an offhanded remark about how the Romans used manual labour and engineering to transport marble all across the Mediterranean and Andrés will think Martín has more layers than he could ever uncover (it doesn’t mean that he’s not going to try though).

One such layer than Andrés discovered after their singular heist at the Champs-Élysées is that Martín likes to have a place he can call his own, a base to return to. It’s a yearning that Andrés hasn’t ever really had. The last time he had something like a home was as a child, before his father left the family for another woman. His mother tried to pick up the pieces, until she was in pieces herself, and the day Andrés buried her was also the day he gave up on ever belonging somewhere. Martín has had a rough childhood himself, but quite contrary to his usual pragmatism, he hasn’t given up hope, which is why he uses some of his money to buy a flat in Palermo – one step closer to the dream of living in bliss in a sun-drenched country. Andrés accompanies him, mostly to criticise the real estate listings, but also because he is intrigued what this whole nesting business might look like. When they finally find the right place (Andrés deems it barely acceptable, Martín adores it), and Andrés observes his friend chatting excitedly, taking in his surroundings, a thought comes to him. _I wouldn’t mind settling somewhere if Martín was around._

No, if Martín was by his side, not even a shared home would be dull and predictable. Together they would make it blazing, and beautiful.

_7) Wildly annihilate one’s own reputation;_

The world knows Andrés de Fonollosa as a gentleman - educated, eloquent, slightly pretentious but still charming. Andrés takes great care to present himself like that, a character so fascinating that people will get whiplash just from trying to figure him out and they will eventually give up and accept him as this impossibly refined man. It’s a highly enjoyable endeavour for several reasons: Firstly, hedonist that he is, it’s wonderful to be able to always act according to his pleasures. Secondly, contrary to what others may think, a complex and scintillating personality is the best disguise for his less reputable activities. Anyone who meets him is too fascinated by this well-traveled modern Renaissance man to ever believe that he could be a criminal. Sometimes, though, he takes great pleasure in annihilating his own carefully-constructed persona, to implode like a star and emerge as a supernova, violent and grander than before.

Sergio knows this darker side of his that takes pleasure in _teaching a lesson,_ in seeing the fear and shock in other people’s eyes, and he doesn’t like it. Perhaps it’s because his _hermanito_ is a brainiac mosty living in cloud-cuckoo-land, capable of drawing up daring plans but forever reliant on others to execute them; perhaps it’s because he reminds Sergio of the monster within every man.

After years of friendship and cohabitation, Martín knows the less-refined facets of Andrés’ personality as well. In fact, roughly a year after their initial meeting Andrés beat up a co-worker of theirs who wanted to make off with a larger cut than agreed upon, because the two-faced, dishonourable bastard deserved and to test the extent of Martín’s loyalty. Martín, who didn’t flinch in the slightest, didn’t shy away from Andrés afterwards, just teasingly scolded him to be quicker next time, and what a wonderful discovery this was! Martín doesn’t encourage Andrés of course, he’s not an uncouth fool, but his genius _ingeniero_. He simply accepts him, _all_ of him, in a way nobody has before. Funnily enough, it’s this unconditional loyalty that brings the beast out in Andrés more often. Whenever somebody dares to insult his dearest friend because of his heritage or his sexuality, it makes Andrés’ blood boil – secure in the knowledge that nothing he could do would ever drive Martín from his side, he’ll deliver a few choice insults himself, he’ll even go and unman some fool in the bathroom with a fork, all to defend Martín’s honour, to shatter people’s _stupid assumptions_.

No, Andrés de Fonollosa will never be a thug. But woe betide them who think he is a lily-livered intellectual.

_8) Go out every night_

_Religiously, taking the body’s dictation;_

Andrés is a man of action. He doesn’t wait passively for the fruit to fall at his feet, no, he’ll pluck it himself, and steal the stars from heaven’s firmament while he’s at it. He follows his pleasures and his appetites, both spiritually and physically, a hedonist and thrill-seeker of highest sophistication. In his courtships, he follows the same recipe, like a hummingbird drawn to the sweetest nectar. Andrés has always had a weakness for beautiful women, and he intends to indulge. That isn’t to say that he’s as fickle as a hummingbird, or at least he _tries_ not to be. He’s fully prepared to commit to the happily-ever-after routine, to commit to his soulmate. He thought he’d done so _four times already,_ but for some reason it never sticks. For some _unfathomable reason,_ he follows the call of fate turned to feeling, but the universe refuses him fulfilment. It’s a perverse twist of fate that Martín, who only follows his base instincts and has the fuck-and-run routine down to a T, seems to have things straightened out, whereas he is left feeling depressed by yet another breakup. Still, he can’t find it in himself to encourage Martín to try for a real relationship, because his best friend’s state of perennial singledom means that Andrés can always rely on him to ease his pain. When the heartache (and the headache from always asking _why, what went wrong, why don’t they stay?_ ) gets too much, he can always turn to Martín and trust him to make it better. Pliable Martín, who lets him wallow in his misery and gives him all the gentle touches and attention he needs. Perfect Martín, who knows when it’s time to shake the aesthetic of the Byronic hero and drags him out of their shared home and back into life. Somehow, Martín can read Andrés needs and desires like a book, and so Andrés trusts him and lets himself be brought to restaurants and bars, to dance the night and all his sorrows away. And thus, it continues, just the two of them, until Andrés meets another woman. However.

As the list of exes grows longer, so do the breaks in between women. In those weeks and even months, Andrés lives in this bubble of perfect content where it’s just him and his best friend, and he finds himself ever more hesitant to break the spell. Drawn between an invitating smile on a girl’s face and the sparkle in Martín’s crystalline eyes, he finds himself _choosing Martín…_ and with every time this happens, with every turned-down opportunity of another fling, a thought grows stronger in his mind:

_What if there was no woman? What if it was just Martín and me, for as long as possible?_

_What if this was enough?_

_9) Regard history as the soul’s spotlight,_

_And fix one’s place in it’s theatre;_

Andrés has always admired the work of the Old Masters, and of contemporary artists in all manners of profession. He has stood in awe in front of Bernini’s sculptures, so much taller and _greater_ than himself and he has felt awed – and very rarely even dwarfed, reminded of his own insignificance in the greater scheme of things. It’s a feeling ordinary people must know very well, he supposes, to be faced with the realisation that whatever they do doesn’t matter, it does no service to humankind as a whole. Yes, he believes, it must be quite shattering, and he’s thankful he is different and doesn’t share their plebeian mindset. Even at his most humbled, Andrés de Fonollosa has never shied away from aspiring to greatness himself, so when he is faced with somebody else’s magnum opus, all he feels is a burning desire to _immortalise himself._ Apart from creating his own kind of art, the quest for eternal glory has always been what’s driven him.

Martín is the missing piece in the puzzle of his efforts. His scientific expertise and intimate knowledge of civil engineering make it possible for the two of them to target only the most exclusive jewellery stores and the most famous auction houses, always searching for that one heist that will put their names in everybody’s mouth. Andrés wants the police to shake their head in frustration, saying, _those bastards, how could they do that?_ He wants the public to listen to the news, thinking, _imagine what I could do if I got away with that._ The Champs -Élysées was certainly among their best work, but Andrés still thinks they can do better. He _knows_ they can do better. It’s fate that puts them on the right path, as always. Martín eagerly reads any new engineering publication and they both stay apprised of current affairs. It always pays off to know what the powers that be are up to, if only so they can twist it to their advantage, after all. Weeks after, when they take a moment to unwind from the frenzy of their planning, Martín will tell him that he got the inspiration from a paper on hydromechanics and the development of flooding vaults – badly written apparently, and it made Martín do some research on how the proposals could be improved on. But that comes later.

_¿Cómo te sueña robar más de noventa toneladas de oro?_

This is the instant when Andrés starts keeping time in a different way. Martín asks him this question, and it’s zero hour, all of their clocks start running towards the fulfilment of their _ultimate goal_. A scientific set of problems turns into a plan: They will combine Andrés’ flair for artful dissimulation and mind games and Martín’s talent for taking apart and rebuilding and combine it to conceive the most elaborate heist in the history of crime. They will steal the gold reserves of the _Banco de Espa_ _ñ_ _a,_ they will bathe in the beauty and in glory of it, and they will be _gods_.

_10) Never forget what it meant to be truly poor._

Poverty has many faces: A lack of material possessions, a lack of opportunity, lack of basic capacities to participate in society. In the material sense, Andrés has always been more or less comfortably well-off. However, the term “participation” implies “being a part of something”, and in this sense Andrés has known hardship more acutely than anyone could imagine.

As a child, he was set apart by his disinterest to fool around with his peers. _So mature for his age,_ is what teachers and other parents said. _Weirdo_ , is what the other children called him. He found solace in his family; in his father, a man with a profession not suitable for dinner conversations, and his mother, who loved unconditionally. They didn’t _get_ _it,_ didn’t understand the quirks of his personality, and why he sat down quietly with a book on one day, and got sent home from school for beating up another boy the next day, but they accepted and loved him nonetheless. But, _fugit inreparabile tempus,_ and nothing is made to last. His father left for another woman and just a few years later, Helmer’s myopathy ate away at his mother until there was nothing left. Ironically, his father’s betrayal gives him a little brother, the only family member by blood who lasts. Sergio’s presence tethers Andrés, gives him something else to focus on besides himself, and he _does need that,_ but it can’t replace the affections of his parents. Andrés is so much older that he is more like a parental figure himself, drifting in and out of Sergio’s life, checking on him and then going back to his usual pursuits. Furthermore, the little one is a sickly child and spends large amounts of time in hospital, isolated from other children and alone with his thoughts. Needless to say, it takes them a while to establish a true bond.

Andrés has resigned himself to having only fleeting connections in life, if any, and he’s _fine_ with it. Better to have nothing at all than for it to be meaningless. This is why he almost can’t believe the instant connection between Martín and him – it’s a spark that soon turns into a fire, touching every aspect of his personality, his life, leaving him changed, but warm all over. With Martín, he finally has someone who understands him wordlessly, who anticipates his moods and actions, who loves him not _despite_ but _because_ of who he is.

It exhilarates and terrifies Andrés in equal measure, because he knows that their relationship is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Martín is his person, his _soulmate_ , and there can never be another. It’s quite beautiful really, because this singularity is what defines the most desirable (and often unattainable) things in life, and Andrés was just _given_ it – a divine blessing, a sign that he was worthy of the perfection he strived to attain. But the downside to finally knowing what true fulfilment feels like is that he doesn’t know how he can ever go without again. Martín’s unconditional devotion is addicting and it will ultimately lead to his demise in ways he cannot possibly anticipate, but Andrés can’t stop himself. He has known poverty, he knows what it is like to be starved for touch, for _real_ affection and he won’t deny himself the comfort of the only oasis he has ever encountered. He keeps searching Martín out, basking in his presence, because it can never be enough.


End file.
